


this must be the place

by SparklesMagicLightLove



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anal Sex, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Found Families, Future Fic, Happily Ever After Fest, M/M, but there is also some, that's basically the whole fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:35:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23515534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparklesMagicLightLove/pseuds/SparklesMagicLightLove
Summary: "It's way too small for the rest of our lives..." A series of vignettes following David and Patrick's life in their cottage.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, a handful of background relationships i won't bother tagging
Comments: 58
Kudos: 242





	this must be the place

**Author's Note:**

> title from _this must be the place_ by the talking heads, but the _[iron& wine ](https://open.spotify.com/track/7dP4k5nDDwI1qMDoz5m0f6?si=hGjigNeXRNagMzFDyaNbSw)version._  
> un-beta'd so all mistakes are my own.

October 2018

“Now, are you sure you don’t want us to stay? We don’t mind sleeping in the guestroom tonight, giving it a trial run? We can make sure that mattress you got has enough bounce? You know, when Joce and I spent the first night in our house we nearly broke--”

“Rollie, I really don’t think they want to hear about that particular adventure of ours right now.” Jocelyn’s false brightness cuts through Roland’s drunkenness. “Let’s head home and we can _talk_ about that night some more.”

“Joce, I really think we should stay and at least make sure the place isn’t haunted.”

“No, Roland,” Patrick interrupts, “I think we’re okay, we really appreciate it though.” He’s all but pushing Roland out the front door as Jocelyn drags him from the other side, and David can hardly suppress his laugh.

When Roland is finally out the door, Patrick leans bodily against it, letting his head tip back against the window with a sigh. His eyes are still closed when David sidles up to him, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s waste. He’s still not doing anything to hide his smile. 

“Honey, you’re not allowed to complain about Roland. You were the one who insisted on not hiring movers.”

“It was the practical choice! Why pay people when Ronnie and Roland will help us in exchange for pizza and beer?”

“Don’t forget about the gift basket for Ronnie, or my dignity for having to hear Jocelyn’s opinion on Roland’s calf muscles all day. Plus, now we’re too drunk to do any real unpacking, which doesn’t seem too practical.”

Patrick’s laugh tips his head back a little further, and David takes his opportunity to duck in a kiss at the sensitive skin under his jaw.

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind, and today has been no different. Between the wedding, the motel expansion, and now the cottage, they’ve hardly had a second to catch their breath in the last four months. But now they’re finally alone in their new home for the first time all day, actually the first time since they closed on it. They’re going to sleep in their new house for the first time tonight. They can christen their new house tonight --

“Enough of that,” Patrick groans, “we still have to set up our bed before we can do that.” He doesn’t sound like he wants David to stop though, and his hips grinding against David’s are telling him otherwise. 

But it’s much more fun to be responsible right now than it is to give Patrick what his body wants. Especially when he gets to hear the needy whine Patrick elicits and see the desperate look in his hooded eyes when David pulls away from his neck. David quirks a smile, tugging at Patrick’s belt loop before backing away to head up the stairs. 

“Come on, we have a bed to put together.”

But when they get upstairs they find their bed already assembled. Patrick wraps his arms around David from behind, crooking his head over David’s shoulder. 

“I guess we know what Ronnie and Roland were doing earlier while we were getting the pizza and beer. Maybe your suffering on their behalf wasn’t too bad afterall?” He’s nosing at David’s ear, which is unfair considering that they still have to put sheets on the bed. As soon as David tries to twist in his arms, Patrick is gone, rifling through the top of a box helpfully marked BEDDING, so David can’t exactly complain. Instead he leaves Patrick to it and heads to the bathroom to do his drunken abbreviated version of his nightly routine (three steps instead of nine: cleanser, toner, moisturizer).

When David emerges from the bathroom, Patrick is flopped down on his stomach in just his boxers on a bed that is just the essentials: fitted sheet, two pillows, and the duvet at the end. David climbs onto the bed on top of him and grinds his hips into Patrick’s ass. 

“Ready to christen our new home, Mr. Brewer-Rose?”

Patricks smile is a little smushed by the mattress, but the feeling of his hips pressing back against David is unmistakable. 

They take each other apart just like that, David biting kisses into Patrick’s back and ass and thighs before licking and fingering and fucking into him, on their new bed in their new house that they bought together and get to _be together_ in. David feared that after their wedding, the intensity of their love might burn out a little, but it seems to only continue to grow as time goes on. Granted, they’re only a month in now, but David hopes that their whispered and shouted declarations will never feel like empty platitudes. David does his best to make sure Patrick _feels_ just how strong David’s love for him is. 

“We’ll have to get our washer and dryer hooked up immediately, these sheets are unacceptable.” David whines as they lay on their backs, spent and sweaty and panting. 

Patrick chuckles as he reaches down for the duvet to pull it over them. They fall asleep naked and messy and tangled together.

When David wakes up the next morning, Patrick is curled against his back, and the bright light of the morning sun is in his eyes. They’ll have to get curtains for all of the East facing windows. He shifts to hide his face from the bright light, turning so he can tuck his head under Patrick’s chin. As he dozes he feels Patrick’s arms tighten around him. 

When he wakes up again it’s to the smell of breakfast and the tune of Patrick’s humming wafting up from downstairs. As he stretches in bed, scratching the flakey come off his stomach that they failed to clean up last night, David thinks, _I could spend the rest of my life just like this._

*

March 2019

It was nearly 2 AM when they got home last night, barely taking the time to strip out of their clothes before they fell into bed together. 

David wakes slowly. He’s still groggy from the exhaustion of the past week. He wakes slowly, but more importantly, he wakes alone. He’d been spoiled during their honeymoon, waking up every day wrapped in Patrick, neither of them having to rush off to open the store. Just the endless possibilities of Mardi Gras in New Orleans stretching before them.

They’d initially planned to have some sort of honeymoon right after the wedding, but after putting nearly all of their savings into the down payment on the house, they had to reassess. They’d spent the last six months pinching pennies and skipping eating out in favor of cooking at home. David didn’t like it, but if it meant having a home and a honeymoon with Patrick, he’d do whatever was necessary.

Patrick had suggested that they just take a weekend in Toronto or New York City in the weeks after their marriage. David wanted to spend their honeymoon experiencing culture in a place that was new to both of them, that they could discover together. Their compromise meant waiting six months and going to New Orleans together.

They’d found a surprisingly-in-their-budget AirBNB in the French Quarter. They spent their nights drinking and partying, and their days fucking in their room, visiting spas, and touring New Orleans many restaurants and sites. David makes sure to take Patrick to see Big Freedia, his introduction to both bounce music and drag. Their last night in the city was Fat Tuesday, and they spent it watching the krewes parade through the streets beneath their window while they ate the food they ordered, then fucked to the sounds of partying below. David had been spoiled.

But there’s still nothing like waking up in the bed that he and Patrick share in the home they own together, even if he is alone in it. He gets up to do his morning routine in their ensuite before heading downstairs to find his husband and some coffee.

When he gets downstairs he does find Patrick, and it’s enough to distract him from his latter mission for the moment. Patrick is standing in their laundry room with both of their suitcases open around him, clothes sorted into separate piles. He’s bent over the big stainless steel sink, elbow deep in suds as he -- 

“What are you doing?” David blurts. He meant to say _good morning_ or _I missed waking up with you_ but neither of those things matter right now in the face of improper care of his knits.

Patrick just quirks an eyebrow as he continues his work at the sink, “I’m doing the laundry.” 

He says it matter-of-fact, as if this is a normal occurrence. But it _isn’t._ For all their shared domesticity, laundry is still something that has stayed relatively separate. They’re still at a point in their relationship where they’ve lived apart longer than they’ve lived together. Their habits surrounding each of their laundry have stayed largely the same. David has always done his laundry on his day off, while Patrick is at the store, and he assumes Patrick has mostly done the same. But now Patrick is doing both of their laundry, sorting them into piles together… and he’s doing it correctly. He has a pile of darks, with a few pieces of David’s mixed in - T-shirts, socks, underwear, and a couple pairs of pants. The washer is already running and David assumes the lights are already mid-wash. There’s a much larger pile of David’s ‘hand wash only’ items, with a couple of Patrick’s newly acquired button downs mixed in. 

Patrick is _handwashing_ David’s clothes right now. 

They spent the last week half naked in an apartment in New Orleans during the most hedonistic time of year, and David is sure he’s never seen anything hotter than this right here, Patrick properly caring for his sweaters.

He forgets about his need for coffee entirely as he fucks Patrick against the washing machine like a cliche. 

*

April 2020

Jasika is the godsend that David didn’t know they needed. It was a slow, dreary January day when she wandered into the Apothecary and challenged David in a way he hadn’t felt since Patrick teased him about his business plan. She was petite with a fashion sense that David rarely saw this far west of Toronto, dark skin and big natural curls, and she was fiery and sarcastic. Most people would have prickled at her forwardness, but David wasn’t most people. 

“So, you’ve been in business for, what, coming up on four years now? You have a _surprisingly_ successful business model, steady bases of both vendors and customers, so why haven’t you expanded? Afraid the success of one store was just a fluke?”

David had to reign in his gaping a little to respond, because she straight up insulted him and he didn’t hate it. “No,” he’d finally said, “I really just haven’t thought much about it.” And it was the truth. After the discussion of moving to New York, they’d never really talked about expanding their business again. David was still learning to settle into his life here, he hadn’t been ready to take on any new challenges.

“Well, you should do it. We could really use a location in Elmdale so I don’t have to drive all the way out here just to get my body milk.” She continued to browse, and he left her to it. 

RA had expanded into online sales not that long ago and it seemed to be working for them. A lot of their orders were from local customers who just knew what they wanted, but they had plenty from people who were hours away, who had never stepped foot in Rose Apothecary but were giving it a chance online.

By the time she made her way to the cash to be rang up, David had been mulling over her comments for a while. “You think that a store in Elmdale would be successful?” 

“Yeah, you’d totally be successful, and the fact that you’d be more than doubling your customer base would have it paying for itself within a year.” She suddenly looked a little sheepish, as if she realized what she’d said. “Okay, so, I may have used Rose Apothecary for this project for my business class.”

David was a little taken aback at that. Someone other than himself or Patrick being interested in Rose Apothecary on that level was very satisfying. But --

“How did you get all the information about our store without talking to either of the owners?”

“Oh,” she blinked at him, a little owlishly, “well, it’s all out there if you know where to look. All the business licenses and financial returns are in different databases and I did an internship last year with the Better Business Bureau…”

But David was no longer listening, thinking about what she’d said about the success of their store in Elmdale. 

… “and really, why would they give me a username and password if it wasn’t to look --”

“What was your name?” David interrupted.

“Oh, I’m Jasika.” Her name was another thing on the list of things David already liked about this woman, but he wasn’t ready to show her that just yet.

“Mmmm, okay, nice to meet you Jasika, I’m David Rose.” He reached out a hand to shake hers, and when they broke the handshake he grabbed a pen and piece of paper to hand to her. “Would you mind leaving your information? I think my husband would like to hear about your… business proposal for an Elmdale location.”

Her brilliant smile was another thing to add to that list.

So now they have a second location in Elmdale, and if all goes well in the next few months, they’ll start planning for their third in Maple Grove. 

They’re both working so much now that it’s rare they get these quiet moments at home. Jasika is helping run the Elmdale location as part of her Senior thesis, and David is so glad to have had another business partner he trusts just fall into his lap. They still needed more employees to staff the store - he spent the better part of three months interviewing dozens of candidates and training the handful he found acceptable. Now, between himself, Patrick, and Jasika, and the four other employees, both stores are covered and David and Patrick are able to have a full day off together every week.

It’s still rare that they get these quiet moments at home, though. Their day off together is usually spent catching up on the vendor runs that have now more than doubled. David decides to take the opportunity to relish in it while he can.

He and Patrick are in what quickly became Patrick’s favorite part of the house - their ‘study.’ David wanted to call it a library, but Patrick argued that _libraries don’t have pianos, David._ And, well, he’s not wrong. So it’s their study, walls lined with bookcases with all of Patrick and David’s favorite books, and many more that will hopefully become favorites once they are read. David has started waking up an hour earlier on Saturdays just so that he can get to a few yard sales before opening the store, browsing through the book selections to fill their shelves.

It’s been a wet April and today is no different as the rain gently patters at the window next to David. He’s in the armchair he found at the flea market that they nearly missed their flight to New Orleans to stop at, and he has it positioned right under the window for optimal light to sketch or read. Today he’s doing the former, sketching out ideas for displays for the building in Maple Grove they’re eying. 

Patrick has been sitting at his upright piano for hours now, plucking away at songs, both his own and others. If David listens carefully he can occasionally pick up a chord he recognizes, or hear Patrick singing lyrics softly under his breath. Every time he sees Patrick sitting there he knows he made the right choice in gifting this to him. He’d found it at one of the yard sales, and it cost as much as six months worth of his sweater budget, but the look on Patrick’s face when David led him to it blindfolded - this time inside their house instead of in front of it - was well worth it. 

David realizes he’s been staring as Patrick catches his eye. He can’t help but smile when he recognizes the song Patrick has begun playing, _their song._

*

December 2021

It’s taken a while to get everyone back under the same roof again. For a while David and Patrick had planned to work through the holiday again, keeping the store open for last-minute shoppers. But when Alexis announced she’d be coming to Schitt’s Creek for Christmas, it forced them to reconsider. Besides, now they have three stores, and more employees to be concerned with than just themselves and Jasika. They’re having to decide what kind of business owners they want to be, and it’s not the kind that keeps their employees away from their families during holidays. So they made the decision to close all of their stores for the two weeks between Christmas and New Years. The loss in sales will come back to them in customer loyalty. They do decide to keep their store in Schitt’s Creek open and staff it themselves through the 23rd for the almost-last-minute-shoppers. It turns out to be a wise decision because nearly everyone in town comes by to wish them Happy Holidays, and to leave gifts for them or to be passed on to David’s family. It’s a reminder for David that he made the right decision to stay here, though his husband beside him is really all the reminding he needs.

Between his mother’s filming schedule, his father’s trips to meet potential investors, Stevie setting up more and more motels, and Alexis’s transition from working for interflix to managing PR for a foreign diplomat she can’t name, they’ve all been scattered even further than before. Or, at least, it feels further, but that’s only because of the closeness that has grown amongst them. But now everyone is here, and the house is a bustle activity as they prepare to spend Christmas day together. 

The Roses arrived yesterday, and they spent the evening eating frozen pizzas and watching movies together (such holiday classics as The Holiday, The Family Stone, and the Proposal; David’s choices of course). Johnny and Moira are staying in the guest house, and Alexis has taken the couch in the living room. The guest bedroom is reserved for Marcy and Clint, who will be arriving around midday - Clint had a Christmas Eve shift at the hospital that delayed their trip. Stevie will be coming over shortly, bringing the provisions that Patrick skimped on (alcohol, much more alcohol). 

David emerges from doing his morning routine in the bathroom to see Patrick sitting on the edge of their bed, pulling David’s [Neil Barrett Fair Isle sweater](https://66.media.tumblr.com/3700161909b6d3ffa460c172acd67b8d/tumblr_pwycbp1jl81v7dbe0o1_400.gifv) over his head. The shoulders are a little loose on Patrick’s narrower frame, but Patrick looks so good in it that David can’t complain about him stealing clothes.

He leans down to give Patrick a minty kiss, and Patrick pushes at his shoulders gently before they can fall too deeply into it. His voice is a little breathy as he says, “come on, baby, everyone is waiting downstairs,” before he stands and grabs David’s hand, pulling him out the door and down the hallway. 

When they arrive in the kitchen, there’s a comedy of errors happening as Johnny tries to navigate their espresso maker and Moira shouts into her cell phone. Alexis is doing an at least passable job at cooking eggs, though David can tell they’re going to be far firmer than is his liking. For all the skills Alexis has learned in the past few years, how to cook is still not among them. Living in New York with a well paying job has made learning to cook unnecessary.

Patrick takes over at the espresso from Johnny as David ushers Moira to the sunroom to take her phone call. He strides back over to the stove and snatches the spatula, but when she gasps out an “Ugh, David!” he softens a bit.

“Here, let me help.” he does his best to gentle his tone before showing her the basics of making breakfast. This much he has managed to learn in the last few years. As much as he prefers Patrick’s cooking, he still feels a sense of accomplishment and self-sufficiency he never had in his past life in being able to prepare a meal. 

“Okay, enough of these, let’s start from scratch. First, we’re going to start cooking the thing that will take the longest.” This was the first lesson Patrick had taught him - figure out how long each part of the meal takes so you can prepare it in the appropriate order. David gets the sausage links out of the fridge, opening the package and putting them in a cast iron skillet he takes down from the pot rack that hangs above the island. Once the sausages are started he goes back to the eggs. Alexis helps him crack a dozen eggs into a bowl, and he hands her the whisk before getting started on the toast. When he has the first set of slices in, he turns back to Alexis and the eggs. 

“First you have to make sure you have the right pan,” he pulls down another skillet from their pot rack, the new non-stick one that they got as a wedding present from Bob “Then, you lightly grease it,” he takes a stick of butter from the dish on the counter and rubs it around the pan before placing it on the burner and turning it to the medium setting. “We’re gonna add a little bit of water to the eggs, but that's all they need. Don’t add anything else until the eggs are cooked. You’re going to cook the eggs, stirring them frequently, until they clump together but still look a little bit shiny. That's when you know they’re done, they’ll keep cooking on their own after they’re off the heat.” 

The toaster pops and David goes to check it, removing the four pieces of toast and replacing them with four new slices of bread. He turns to grab the butter from where he used it for the skillet and sees Alexis staring at him, considering. Suddenly he feels caught out, though he doesn’t know what he did wrong.

“What?” He bites it out harsher than he means to, and he can feel Patrick looking at him from where he’s standing at the espresso maker, can practically hear his chiding “David” even though he remains silent.

“Nothing, it's just nice to see you like this.” David wants to push that further, but he still hasn’t had any coffee, so instead he just grabs the butter and goes back to the toast. He’s working on the next batch when he feels the warm line of Patrick at his side, before he’s reaching an arm around him to hold a mug in front of his face. 

“I think she’s trying to say she’s proud of you,” Patrick’s voice is low as he whispers in David’s ear before kissing his cheek.

David can feel his cheeks brighten, because why should anyone be proud over cooking eggs? But he guesses he understands, when he thinks back to the disaster that was cooking enchiladas with his mother. The memory still manages to make him smile as he takes the proffered beverage from Patrick, sipping the sweet caramel flavored coffee.

By the time breakfast is ready, Moira is finally done with her phone call and they sit down to eat. The eggs are still a little more done than David likes, but it’s a vast improvement from before. When he thinks _Alexis made these_ he understands a little more, how she could feel proud about eggs. 

Stevie arrives halfway through brunch, bringing with her a surprise in the form of Twyla, who is holding her hand, and David definitely needs to know more about that. He doesn’t have a chance to ask though, because Moira is saying “Stevie, how wonderful to set mine eyes upon your virtuous visage!” and pulling her in to tell her tales of her recent filming.

The day devolves from there; as they’re cleaning up from breakfast, Marcy and Clint arrive. After a round of greetings and more coffee, they make their way into the living room to settle around the tree. 

This is the most important part about having everyone over for Christmas for David, showing off this tree. They had spent their last two Christmases in this house mostly alone, so they hadn’t bothered with a tree. They’d had a few wreaths last year, and even stockings and mistletoe, but this is the first year they have a tree. There’s nothing much special about it, except that he and Patrick picked it out and cut it down themselves, at the tree farm near their store in Maple Grove that they’d been sourcing their holiday wreaths from. Their Maple Grove store is actually selling trees in the front where the produce stands normally are in the warmer months. 

They picked out this tree together and cut it down, they loaded it on top of their car (the practical Subaru that Patrick had picked out, telling David that with the money they’d save on gas and maintenance he’d be able to up his shopping budget by 20%) and they brought it home to stand in this living room. They’ve forgone a tree skirt to expose the antique cast-iron tree stand that David found at a yard sale. David found a set of Edison-bulb string lights at, ugh, _Target_ of all places, but they complimented his aesthetic so he bought them anyways. The tree is decorated with a mix of vintage ornaments from yet another yard sale and a garland of cranberries and dried oranges from one of their Winter Series workshops at RA. David takes an immense amount of pride in this tree, how it’s full of pieces that he and Patrick found or made together, a microcosm of this home that they found and made together.

He focuses on putting on some music to distract himself from thinking too deeply about _home_ , queuing up Mariah. He’s still scrolling through his Spotify when he feels the couch dip beside him and looks over to see Stevie. She’s alone now, Twyla and Alexis have their heads ducked together as they gossip under their breaths.

“Hello,” she drawls, fidgeting with the mug in her hands.

David replies with his own “hello,” smiling a little in a way that’s meant to be reassuring. He can tell Stevie feels nervous about talking to him, so he stands and holds out his hand. She takes it and he leads her back through the hallway and into the kitchen, before exiting into the sunroom. They take a seat on the wicker sofa that reminded Patrick of the one on his grandmother’s porch.

An unfamiliar silence has fallen over them, David decides to break it. “So, you and Twyla? I didn’t see that coming.”

“Neither did I,” Stevie says with a laugh that’s a little watery, but she looks happy when David glances at her. 

“I didn’t even know you were friends.”

“We weren’t, really.” She pauses for a moment, and David waits her out. He can hear her take a deep breath beside him before letting it out. “We went to high school together and everything, but we never ran in the same circles, you know. I’ve hardly talked to her outside of the Café.” 

She pauses on another breath, and David takes the opportunity to slide closer to her on the sofa. Coming out is hard, no matter how accepting your audience is. It’s not always about how they’ll react, sometimes it’s about recontextualizing your whole life, and that’s not easy to overcome. 

“I’m sure Patrick told you this, but the first couple years of the expansion were really difficult. Even with the New York investors, we were stretched pretty thin.” Patrick had told him; he’d been helping Stevie with the books, trying to figure out if there was anything they were missing. There wasn’t much David could do about it besides be supportive, he and Patrick were already overextended with their new house. He’s not really seeing how this relates to Twyla though.

“So Twyla --?”

“So Twyla became an investor. I was at the Café with Patrick one day going over numbers. When Patrick left, she came over and told me that she’d overheard. And she wanted to help.”

“How can Twyla help? She’s a waitress at the Café, I’ve seen how people tip there.”

Stevie is silent for long enough that David looks at her again, and when he does, he sees that she’s grinning.

“What?”

“David, Twyla isn’t just a waitress at the Café. She _owns_ the Café. Twyla is a multi-millionaire.”

“She’s a _what?_ ”

“She won 46 million dollars in the lottery a little before you moved here.”

“Oh my god.” He’s not really sure what to do with that information just yet. The fact that he and his family had just lost everything when they got here and Twyla had just won _46 million dollars_ , well, he guesses he understands why she never mentioned it. “So Twyla invested in the motel…”

Stevie nods, face sombering a little as she goes back to the story. “Twyla invested. She said a friend told her that it’s okay to spend money on things that matter to you. And this town matters to her and the motel is part of this town. And once she invested, she wanted to know more about the motel and how we’re doing. It’s still really new, but we just started spending more time together and it just sort of happened…”

David understands that more than anything. He and Patrick had just sort of happened, at least on his side. Patrick had pursued him, had found a way to guarantee that he was in David’s orbit, and from there it had just _happened_. Spending time together had given the budding thing between them a chance to grow.

He realizes that Stevie has stopped talking, is just looking at him now. She’s not looking for approval, she knows she doesn’t need it, and that David will give it as long as she’s happy. And that’s how she’s looking at him, like she’s happy and she wants him to know. 

David wraps his arm around her and gives her a quick squeeze, croaks a tearful “I’m happy for you,” into the crown of her head. He’s standing before they can dwell in the moment too long, dissolving the emotions that are too much for either of them. “We’d better get back in there. I think it’s time we break out the wine. I’m feeling white -- how about you?” Stevie laughs and stands to follow him. 

They return to sit in the living room, everyone chatting amongst themselves until the doorbell rings, signalling the arrival of Roland and Jocelyn with Rollie Jr. Patrick rallies everyone together back in the living room, and starts passing out gifts. Most of the gifts are typical, Patrick and David give everyone personalized gift baskets from RA, as well as a handcrafted ornament for each of them from a german vendor a few towns over; Stevie’s gifts for everyone are alcohol related; every one of Johnny’s gifts just misses the mark, though he at least remembers the gift receipt now. The best surprises are the ones David and Patrick give each other: David gives Patrick two tickets to a game at Yankee Stadium and a promise to go with him the next time they visit Alexis; Patrick gives David the [floral Gucci sweater](https://66.media.tumblr.com/13c48e30bc1fb4404fed2c54c6466719/2016cac9883939e8-ff/s500x750/48b8c6df0b4a7dfdc38792e678f3226a460ed53a.png) he’s been eyeing but was outside of even his 20% more budget. 

They spend the rest of the day playing games. They play quite a few rounds of charades and Mafia, since they are eleven people not counting Rollie Jr. They split in half a few different times to play boardgames, one team of five and one team of six is _almost_ an optimum game night.

As the day draws on, David and Patrick excuse themselves from the game to go start dinner. They’re just having a big batch of pasta with garlic bread and a salad - a simple way to feed a dozen people. Before he leaves, David turns to look, and feels himself overwhelmed with a feeling of warmth as he sees his family spread throughout their living room. It’s a feeling he’s been having more and more, a feeling he never had before he came to Schitt’s Creek. Patrick’s hand on his shoulder grounds him, and he gives him a knowing look.

The pasta is boiling on the stove before he gets the courage to say anything. “We should do this more often.”

Patrick looks at him questioningly. “What, cook pasta? We have it every time it’s your turn to cook dinner, I think that’s often enough.”

David huffs, “No, _this._ Having people here… having our…” he doesn’t quite get the words all the way out. He’s never included Twyla or Roland as _family_ before.

Patrick smiles, coming to circle his arms around David. He relieves David of the words, “I like having our family here too, David.” He kisses David softly on the lips before pulling away to continue chopping vegetables for the salad. Not for the first time, David is grateful to feel so seen.

*

July 2023

“Goodmorning, sunshine!” Patrick’s voice is chipper and _far_ too loud. He places a coffee on the nightstand for David, who groans and burrows further into the blankets, but Patrick doesn’t let him get too deep before he’s yanking the blankets away. “Get up David, it’s a big day.”

David groans again “Whose idea was it to have a wedding the day after a bachelorette party?”

Patrick laughs, “Um, I believe it was yours, as Stevie’s best man, since you wanted everyone to be here for both.”

“Well it wasn’t my idea for everyone to have such busy schedules.” David bites back, but he’s disarmed immediately by Patrick’s soft lips against his, tongue swiping in briefly.

“If you get up now, I’ll blow you in the shower before breakfast.”

It’s all the motivation David needs.

The combination of a blowjob, a shower, and a strong cup of coffee does wonders for David’s hangover. When he finds Stevie and Alexis, they’re still in poor shape. Prioritizing, David drags Stevie out of bed and into the bathroom to shower. She remains sluggish and resistant.

“Stevie!” David whines, “You _really_ need a shower and this is as much as I’m willing to help. We don’t need to relive that and I don’t think Twyla will appreciate me undressing her bride on her wedding day.”

“You don’t know what Twyla is into,” which, ew, is much more than David needs to know. Stevie seems to have it handled now, so he retreats to drag Alexis out of bed. He gets her into the master ensuite and then makes his way downstairs to help Patrick with breakfast. What Patrick really needs help with is not breakfast, but cleanup from the night before. After a long night of raunchy party games and lots of booze and weed, the four of them had stumbled into bed, and Twyla, who hadn’t drank nearly as much as any of them, had gone back to hers and Stevie’s apartment. They were attempting some semblance of tradition, after all. 

When Stevie finally comes downstairs after a very long shower, she’s grinning ear to ear. She still looks a bit hungover, but she also looks like - well she looks like this is the first day of the rest of her life. David remembers that feeling, how he had felt bursting with happiness on his wedding day, even with the rain and the impending move of his family. 

They eat breakfast quickly before loading into the car to go to the stylist. Patrick stays behind, he’ll be picking up David’s parents from the airport while David and the girls get pampered. 

The wedding is a whirlwind of emotions. The reception that follows is no better, the Café overflowing with people in a way David has never witnessed. The last time he saw it even close to this full was for Patrick’s surprise party. But there’s more people now, so many well wishers, a decade’s worth of regulars at the Café and connections Stevie has made through the hotel. David gets so caught up in his little family of a dozen or so people that he often forgets that those people each have their own dozen people they consider family. 

The reception begins with Twyla and Stevie’s first dance, to Jade Bird’s _[Lottery](https://open.spotify.com/track/5F3QLG5Vnc1kT02PM9Mk37?si=LvAGEkobRv2UAjYOOxWs3w), _and ends with drunkenly tearful goodbyes as everyone goes their separate ways again, joined together only briefly and so infrequently these days. Stevie and Twyla are set to leave first thing in the morning for their two week honeymoon in the Maldives.

Patrick, David’s sober, responsible, wise, sexy husband, drives David and Alexis home. David has good intentions of getting his hands all over his sexy husband tonight, but as he climbs out of the car, the way the world spins tells him his body has other plans. Patrick helps lead him and Alexis into the house. David is already settled into bed before he realizes that he’s in the guest bed with Alexis.

“Patrick--” David calls, reaching out. 

Patrick ducks down to kiss him on the forehead, “I’ll survive one night without you, you don’t get enough time with Alexis. Besides, you kick when you’re drunk.” He pulls away with a smirk and is out the door before David can protest again.

David huffs, pressing back into the pillows. He listens silently to Alexis’s breathing, he’s pretty sure she’s asleep. He supposes Patrick was right in leaving him in here with her, he’d seen the look on her face throughout the wedding and been a little concerned. Alexis had been so lonely since she and Ted broke up. She’d had a few relationships since then, but nothing serious, not serious enough to bother mentioning to mom and dad, or even to David for that matter.

Alexis clears her throat. So, not asleep then. “I have a confession to make. Please don’t be mad at me for not telling you.”

David sighs, even if he wanted to be mad he wouldn’t have the energy to right now. So he just reaches out his arm across the blankets to find her hand and hooks his pinky into hers.

“I promise.”

She takes a deep breath, “I’m seeing Ted again.”

David wants to jump out of bed in shock at that, but his drunken lack of coordination and the heavy blankets piled over him mean he just kind of flails a little in the sheets.

“What?” He croaks out instead once he gives up on moving.

Alexis glances at him sideways. Her hands are pulled up against her chest now, playing with the edge of the blanket. It’s a defensive measure, David knows, but it makes her look a little like a rabbit or a t-rex. 

“Yeah, um, when I was going through JFK a few months ago, after I came back from extracting the ambassador’s daughter from North Korea, I ran into him. We arrived at gates in the same terminal, I ran into him at the coffee cart, actually. Anyways… he’s finally done in the Galapagos. And he got hired as the new director of the New York Zoo. So we’re finally in the same place again.”

She pauses in her story to check that David is still listening, and he is, eyes shining a little because this is so _good._ He’s so happy for her. He was there for all of the aftermath of their breakup, and Alexis had only just started to put herself back together when she moved to New York. He’s glad she’s had time to grow in herself but he’s also happy that this path has led her back to the man she loves. This is all so good, so --

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

Alexis closes her eyes and turns her face away, but she snuggles a little into David’s side, and David wraps his arm loosely around her.

“I wanted to tell you. I was just afraid that if I started talking about it, it wouldn’t work out again. After so many false starts, I wanted to be sure it would last before I started telling people.”

“So you’re sure it’ll last then?”

It takes so long for her to answer that he nearly falls asleep. When she does speak, he can hear Alexis’s smile even if he can’t see it as she says, “I’m going to ask him to marry me when I get back.”

He’s too far gone to reply with words so he just squeezes the arm he has wrapped around her. He falls asleep with visions of his and Patrick’s wedding five years ago, Stevie and Twyla’s wedding tonight, and Aexis and Ted’s wedding, still to come.

*

September 2024

David just wants to be home. He’s had a long weekend and an even longer flight. He flew into New York on Friday for Alexis’s bridal shower on Saturday morning. He and Twyla are sitting on the bench in front of the airport, waiting for Stevie to arrive. She’s late. 23 minutes late, precisely. Every time David brings it up, Twyla starts in on some metaphysical story about the illusion of time and how her second cousin used it as a way out of a parking ticket. David has grown to love Twyla, especially now that she’s his best friend’s _person_ , but two full days with her and Alexis combined has been trying his patience.

He’s about to snap when Stevie finally pulls up, 42 minutes later than she said she’d be. David tries to point it out and be angry, but it's hard when Stevie has that soft look she gets in Twyla’s presence now. He loves seeing the way he feels about Patrick in his friends’ relationships.

David wants nothing more than to go home to his husband, curl up in their bed and watch 13 Going on 30 while eating carry-out Chinese food, before fucking Patrick into the mattress. So he tries not to pout too hard when Stevie pulls into their favorite pizzeria that they rarely go to since it’s 45 minutes away in Elm Glen. David has brief hopes that they’ll at least get the pizza to go, but when Twyla sees that the restaurant seems a bit slow she insists on dining in to support the waitstaff. 

Two pizzas, six beers, and a $50 tip later, they’re finally leaving to head home. David thinks that he may just be able to doze his way through the 45 minute ride so he can wake up to be in his husband’s arms. But before he can get too deep into that fantasy, they’re pulling in to the best (okay, only) frozen custard place in Elm Glen.

“Okay, _what_ is going on?” There’s no reason for Stevie to treat him to two of his favorites in one night.

“Nothing,” Stevie answers too quickly, “I can’t take my two favorite people out to dinner and dessert after missing them for the whole weekend?”

David narrows his eyes. Sincerity like this would normally be suspicious, especially since Stevie is incapable of faking it, but Twyla’s impact on Stevie has been a little bit paradigm shifting. He decides to just go with it, there’s no harm in custard after all, and orders one for himself and one to-go for Patrick. It’ll be a little melty when it gets to him but it’ll taste good nonetheless. 

An hour later and they’re _finally_ pulling into the driveway of their cottage. David scrambles his way out of the car, pulling his bags out after him. Stevie is already pulling out of the driveway before David is even to the front door. When he goes to open it, Patrick is already on the other side.

“Welcome home, baby.” David wraps himself up in Patrick and inhales, breathing in the warm scent of his menonite aftershave, the musky smell of his deodorant, and the citrus of the RA shampoo he uses. He smells like home.

They’re never apart for more than this, and not often. Sometimes Patrick goes away for a conference, but they’re usually just overnight. They’d spent a few days apart last fall when Patrick went home to visit for Marcy’s birthday, but they try to travel together whenever they can. With Jasika at the stores, and the three other managers they've hired on since, it’s been much easier to get away together. This is the first they’ve been apart in ages. 

All of David’s sexy intentions fall out the window as he slumps in Patrick’s arms, the warmth and comfort of home lulling him. He’s suddenly aware of just how tired he is, and he pulls away. He presses the custard container into Patrick’s hand as he moves to go up the stairs. Patrick takes the custard, but he doesn’t release David fully, pulling him back in for a kiss.

“Mmm, you taste good. What kind did you have? Wait, let me guess,” and he leans back in to kiss David again, more thoroughly. “Heath bar crunch?”

“Triple chocolate turtle.”

“Ahh, my mistake, I guess I need one more taste.” 

When David finally pulls away from the kiss it’s a little regretful, but he's so tired, and he should at least unpack his bag before he goes to sleep tonight. He pulls away, and this time Patrick lets him. Picking up his suitcase, David heads upstairs as Patrick goes to put his custard in the freezer.

It takes him a beat longer to realize it than it should, but he can blame it on the exhaustion. He’s already inside his closet and reaching to unzip his bag before he realizes his closet is nearly three times as large as it was before. David gasps, taking it in. There are built in shelves for his shoes. Wooden drawers line the lower portion of the closet and there is wooden paneling behind the rods where his clothes hang. It’s the smell that hits him next, the scent of cedar much stronger than what is usually emitted from the chest he made with Mutt, and he realizes that all of this beautiful pinkish wood is cedar. His clothes are already organized in the closet too, nearly perfectly to his liking. He’s still taking it all in when Patrick’s arms wrap around him and he hooks his head over David’s shoulder.

“So do you like it? Sorry I had to have Stevie distract you, Ronnie took longer getting it finished than I’d planned so I still had to put everything back in here.”

David imagines it, Patrick scrambling between this closet and the guest room to put his clothes back in order. That was only an hour ago. David is overcome with love and lust for this man who is constantly going above and beyond for him.

“I know it took a lot longer to get to this project than we’d planned, for a while we didn’t have the money and then Ronnie didn’t have the time until just recently --”

David turns in his arms to cut him off with a kiss, a deep heated one. He was exhausted but now he feels wired, ready to use his body to show Patrick all of what he’s feeling. Even six years in, this is the easiest way he has to express himself. He pushes Patrick backwards, out of the closet and on to the bed before straddling him. 

“I missed you,” he sighs into Patrick’s lips before kissing him deeply.

When he pulls away, Patrick murmurs “I missed you too, baby,” before kissing at the sensitive spot on his neck.

David pushes Patrick the rest of the way down onto the bed, before standing to remove his clothes. Patrick pushes up on his elbows, heated gaze intent on David. Once David has his own clothes off, he gets started on Patrick’s. He gets distracted kissing his way down Patrick’s chest, nipping at the skin of his belly. When Patrick tangles his fingers in David’s hair, he remembers his mission and reaches for Patrick’s belt.

Once David has Patrick fully naked, and after being distracted sucking Patrick’s cock for much longer than he intended, he stands again and quickly grabs a bottle of lube from the nightstand. He returns to where Patrick is laying on the bed, resuming his position straddling Patrick’s thighs. Patrick is already kissing him again before David is fully settled, reaching to take the lube from his hand.

“Me or you? What do you want tonight?”

“Mmmm I want to ride you,” his eyes are closed, forehead pressed against Patrick’s. God, he was only gone for two days but he _missed this_ so much. They slipped so naturally into this life together than now whenever he’s away from it he doesn’t remember how to _be._

“You sure? That’s a lot of work for how tired you seemed just a minute ago.” But David can hear him already uncapping the lube, and then he feels Patrick’s thick, wet fingers against him.

He presses back against him, but Patrick pulls his hand away, just teasing around his rim without going inside. David huffs, “You’re right, I’ll probably make you take over before too long, but it’s the only way to get you as deep as I want you -- oh.” He groans when Patrick finally gives him what he wants, or at least, part of what he wants. He fucks one finger in and out for a minute before adding a second. 

David’s mouth is latched onto Patrick’s shoulder, working a bruise that will be a deep purple by the time he’s finished. The stretch burns a little, between the weekend away and the store, it’s been longer than either of them would like since they’ve done this. After a few more minutes, Patrick is fucking him with three fingers, whispering “come on, baby, open up for me.” 

David’s hips are circling against Patrick’s hand, and he’s ready, he needs this so much. He gently pushes Patrick away.

Patrick removes his hand, wiping the lube against the comforter, which elicits a grimace from David. “I know I already said it, but I really did miss you this weekend. This house feels really empty without you in it.”

“Funny, I could say the same about my ass. Come on, I’m ready, need to feel you.” He takes the lube from where it’s lying on the bed to slick up Patrick’s cock before lining it up and sinking down slowly. 

The stretch is almost too much but it’s perfect, and Patrick’s hands on his hips are a grounding force. David gets his arms around Patrick’s neck and leans in to kiss him again, nipping and swiping his tongue at Patrick’s lower lip. When he’s fully seated on Patrick’s cock, he sighs contentedly. 

He stays there a beat too long, until Patrick is minutely shifting his hips upwards, grinding his cock deliciously into David’s ass. “Babe, I thought you were going to ride me, not just sit on me.” It’s gentle enough teasing to get David moving, not that he needed too much urging.

Their pace quickens before too long, the slow roll of David’s hips building up to a fast staccato, urgently fucking himself down against Patrick.

“Yeah, baby, just like that, so good for me. Perfect, you’re perfect.” Patrick’s fingers scratch lines into his back as he murmurs affirmations against David’s lips, cheek, ear.

David’s rhythm starts to falter, he’s so close but his thighs are burning. “Patrick--” he keens, holding closer to him as he moves, trying to get friction against his cock. 

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Patrick says, flipping them over before David fully realizes what’s happened. But then he’s fucking him, hard and so so deep. Patrick somehow manages to be both relentless and gentle, his palms smoothing against David’s sides a sharp contrast to the pounding of his hips. 

“Patrick -- Patrick, I need to come, please.” He has his own cock in hand, stroking determinedly.

“Yeah baby, you’ve been so good, you can come for me,” so he does, crying out as he leaves a mess on his stomach. He feels himself clenching around Patrick, whose thrusts become more erratic until he’s pushing forward and staying there, panting into David’s neck and groaning his name as he comes inside him. 

They stay like that for a long while, until they’re both starting to get uncomfortable and Patrick’s softened enough that he has to pull out. 

“Mmm, missed this -- you.” David mutters, Patrick’s fingers rubbing over his hole, pushing in any come that’s escaped. “You’re right, two days is way too long to be apart. Though it seems like you had plenty to keep you busy in my absence.” David quirks an eyebrow at him and presses his smile into the corner of his mouth, trying and failing to hide it.

Patrick’s bright laughter breaks through the headiness that settled in the room as they fucked, and he pulls his fingers away before standing to go to the bathroom. David misses them already. “Are you trying to pretend you don’t _like_ how I kept busy while you were away?”

David waits for Patrick to reemerge from the ensuite with a wet washcloth before he responds. “I do like it, I love it.” Being sincere still isn’t easy for him, but being sincere with Patrick is something he’s had a lot of practice with over the years. “You take such good care of me.” He’s referring to both his new walk-in closet and the way Patrick’s gently swiping the washcloth at the come on his stomach, then between his legs. Patrick always makes sure he has everything he needs.

Patrick shuts off the lights and settles in next to David, wrapping himself around him. David’s nearly asleep when Patrick whispers, “You take good care of me too, David.” He’s too tired to argue, but he also knows there’s no argument to be had -- they take care of each other.

*

August 2025

After nearly seven years of marriage, David and Patrick have settled into a pretty good routine for cooking. Patrick cooks three nights a week, David cooks two, and they eat out for the other two - one night at the Café, the other at a restaurant out of town. David never thought he’d enjoy having such a predictable routine to his life, but no one ever told him that _predictable_ also means _dependable._

On the nights that David cooks, they usually have pasta, or salad, or soup. Something relatively easy and within David’s skillset, usually prepackaged and prepared to some degree. Patrick doesn’t hold it against him though, when he wants something homemade he makes it on his nights.

When Patrick cooks, he makes as much from scratch as possible. He has a cookbook full to bursting with recipes from his parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins -- David is sure he has at least one recipe from every member of his family. And he’s nothing but eager to share them with David, carefully preparing each meal and gauging his face for reaction, and oh, does David’s face react. 

Patrick usually starts cooking long before David gets home from closing the store, often coming home to a meal ready for him. As nice as that is, David’s favorite nights are the ones when Patrick is still cooking when he gets home. On those nights, he takes the glass of wine Patrick has poured for him and settles in to watch, perched on the counter at his side, or seated at the island across from him.

He’s picked up on a few tips and tricks this way, has learned his way around the kitchen a little better through the osmosis of observation. He’s learned to curl the fingers of the hand holding the vegetables when he’s chopping them, knuckles to the blade instead of fingertips. He’s learned about salting pasta water, and to keep a towel on his shoulder for quick access, and he even knows how to make a couple of the mother sauces. 

The most important thing he’s learned is that garden fresh produce is always superior. “It’s not just a _preference,_ David, the flavor is always better.” He’s not wrong, and they like to shop local as much as they can, so it’s never a burden to stop by a farm stand on the way home. 

It was the wet July day last summer, the rain pouring and thunder rumbling as they drove past the closed farmstand that made David’s decision for him. They’d gotten some fresh buffalo mozzarella from a new cheese vendor, and Patrick had been so excited to make a caprese salad for David with it. But with the farmstand closed he wouldn’t be able to get the tomatoes and basil they’d need. 

Patrick ended up being able to prepare the promised caprese a few days later, when the summer storms had passed and the roadside vendors were open again. But for the following year, whenever it rained, David would remember the look on Patrick’s face at the missed opportunity. There had to be some way he could ensure it wouldn’t happen again.

He figured that, if the produce is right outside their back door, the rain couldn’t stop them. He spent all fall and winter researching and plotting. He figured that building raised beds was going to be a little (okay, a lot) beyond his skillset, so he decided he’d plant right in the ground. But that meant he’d have to have really healthy soil. Well, he had plenty of time to start composting.

April found David standing in the backyard, surveying the plot of land he’d decided on. He had the whole lawn to work with if he chose, but this spot was closest to what all the blogs and Pinterest articles he scoured recommended. This plot of land saw a lot of sun in the afternoons and evenings, but was shaded by the house in the morning. There were plenty of hedges and other landscaping in the surrounding area to provide a good wind barrier, and the spot was elevated enough from the area around it to prevent it from flooding. 

He had picked up some plants from a nursery earlier that week, a kindly older woman helping him pick the best of the lot. For his first endeavors he decided to stick to the basics: two each of tomatoes, cucumbers, bell peppers, and basil. The tomatoes and basil were a given for the caprese, but the woman had talked him into cucumbers and peppers for their ease. He’d turned the soil, added compost, planted them, and top dressed them with more compost. He was dirty and sore and fulfilled when he finished for the day.

It probably would’ve taken Patrick longer to notice if watering the plants hadn’t become part of David’s morning routine - and anything that got David up in the mornings was worth noticing. Their weeks are busy, between the six stores and their dozens of vendors spanning all across rural Canada, and a few even in the northern United States. Recently, unless Patrick was barbequing or mowing the lawn, he would rarely have a chance to venture into the backyard. 

But now David has a morning routine that includes _watering the garden,_ so Patrick notices. The first morning after David had planted the garden, they’d been late to open the store for the first time in years as Patrick took him apart right there in the backyard, and it was a good thing David had recently become more accustomed to dirt in places it wasn’t meant to be. 

David doesn’t just have a morning routine for the garden, either, he has a weekly routine that includes weeding on Sundays, his day off. The August sun beats down on him in the late morning when Patrick comes to find him. They don’t open till noon on Sundays, so Patrick’s able to visit David in the garden for longer than usual before he heads into work. David’s on the garden kneeler that Marcy had given him for his birthday, along with a tote bag with all the tools he could possibly need. He’d let it slip to her on one call that he was starting a garden, and she’d been so enthusiastic about it that he’d continued to call her to ask her things that he probably could have Googled, but having her guidance through this made this garden feel even more connected to Patrick.

“Morning, baby,” Patrick ducks down to kiss the top of his head as he rests his hands on David’s shoulders, massaging gently. David is in his gardening clothes - a pair of Patrick’s cutoff jean shorts with a T-shirt of his own that was old enough to retire to this new phase of its life. Patrick will be off to open the store soon, and Stevie is supposed to be coming over in a little while to keep him company while he works in the garden. Plus, she’s bringing her own garden of sorts with her. 

“Morning, honey,” he stops weeding and tips his head to the side, seeking a real kiss from his husband. “Mmmmm, you smell suspiciously _not_ like the sunscreen I gave you to put on before coming out here.”

Patrick blushes a little, caught, and his response takes them back to their typical argument. “David,” he complains, “I’m literally only going to be out here for maybe ten minutes before I go to the store, where I’ll be inside _all day._ ”

“Right, because UV rays care about time. Plus the time you’re in your car definitely counts as time in the sun, those windows don’t protect from anything.”

Patrick huffs, “okay, okay,” but David decides to be a little selfish when he goes to pull away, and draws him back in for a lingering kiss. 

When he pulls away, the slightly dazed look on Patrick’s face makes him smile, glad he can still put it there after so long. “I love you,” he says, and it doesn’t take any effort at all anymore. He swats Patrick on the ass then, shocking him into standing upright, “Now go, take care of that beautiful pale skin.” 

Patrick calls and “I love you, too” over his shoulder, betraying his feigned petulance at the comments about his complexion, and goes about his day.

When Stevie finally shows up around noon, it is with the promised joint in hand, so David decides it’s a good chance for a break. He’s nearly done anyways, this late in the season he doesn’t have to worry so much with pruning, it’s mostly harvesting and weeding now.

Since he’s already in his gardening clothes, he doesn’t put up too much of a protest when Stevie goes to lay out on the lawn, belly up to the sky. They pass the joint back and forth, pointing out shapes in the clouds like they’re eight again. David never had friends he could do this sort of thing with, just Alexis and Adelina, so he savors it while he can. He’s gotten better at this, too, over the years: acknowledging that he missed out on something but not beating himself up about it, just taking the new experiences in stride.

It’s become less and less frequent that he and Stevie get to spend any time together, especially like this. They each have their person now, and both of their careers fill the rest of their time nicely. The motel is doing great, turning an even larger profit than projected but also taking more of Stevie’s time than she’d planned for. Her and Twyla are closing on a house next week, one within a mile of the cottage, so they’ve been busy, too, with packing up their shared apartment. He’s excited to live so close again, he’s missed the proximity of having her at the hotel. David and Stevie’s lives have diverged in ways he never expected when he met her a decade ago. He’s trying to savor the time he has with her when he gets it. 

They’re recovering from a fit of laughter after David pointed out a cloud with a very distinct phallic shape when Stevie changes the tone of the conversation rather abruptly.

“This will be my last time doing this, for a while.”

“You’re telling me, I obviously don’t make a habit of lying in the dirt and I don’t plan on doing it again anytime soon.”

“No David, I mean the weed.”

David sits up so suddenly the world spins a little, or maybe it’s the fact that Stevie is talking about _not_ doing drugs that’s making his world spin.

“What -- What? Why?”

“Try to seem a little less shocked, thanks. I’m capable of not being a pothead.”

He does his best not to laugh at that, because Stevie seems like she might be actually being serious right now, but _really_ , he’s not sure he’s capable of not being a pothead, so he’s not sure how Stevie will manage, or --

“Why, though?”

“Come back down here.” She’s pulling at his arm, trying to get him to lay like they were before, head’s side by side with their feet going in opposite directions. He complies, but the relaxation he felt before isn’t there. There’s not many reasons David can think of that Stevie would _stop smoking weed_ and none of the ones he can think of are good ones. Maybe she’s leaving Rosebudd Motel Group and is getting a job that drug tests? That doesn’t make sense though, the motels have been doing great and she’s happy, as far as he knows. Or maybe she’s not?

When David is finally settled again beside her, she pulls another joint out of her pocket. She gets it started and inhales deeply before passing it to David. She doesn’t talk until she’s exhaled out all the smoke.

“I’m going to have a baby.”

David chokes on his inhale, and it’s long moments before he’s fully recovered. He sat up at some point during his coughing fit, and when it ends, Stevie hands him a glass of water. He realizes she must’ve gone inside for it without him noticing, returning to sit next to him, hand rubbing slow circles on his back.

“You’re pregnant?” he croaks, his throat dry and burning. He takes a sip of the water. 

“Not yet. Twyla and I are going to start IVF.”

David leans his forehead against his knee and closes his eyes, considering. His best friend is going to have a baby. He didn’t even know she liked kids, much less that she wanted one. 

“I didn’t know you wanted kids.”

She’s silent for so long that, if it weren’t Stevie, David would worry he’d overstepped. When he pulls his head back up to look at her, she’s staring off in the distance. Her hand is still rubbing slow circles into his back. 

When she finally speaks, it’s much quieter than before. “I didn’t either. But I didn’t know I wanted any of this before I had it -- the motel, the wife, the house. I didn’t know all those things about myself, why would whether I want kids be any different?”

David guesses he understands that. He’s still certain he doesn’t want kids, he loves his life with Patrick exactly as it is without adding an entire human being into the mix. But he wonders sometimes, if his aversion to having children is just a part of him, or if it’s something that began because he could never see himself at a place in his life where they’d even be an option. When he decided he didn’t want children, he never would’ve pictured this life: his husband, his business, the two story cottage with a spare bedroom, the half acre of lawn he’s currently sitting on.

“I -- I think I get it.” 

“Really?” Stevie’s face is suspicious, and he doesn’t blame her.

He laughs, a little tearfully, and is suddenly brought back to the moment they shared seven years and forty meters from here: Stevie’s arm wrapped around him as he tried to imagine this future for himself, as she convinced him he deserves it. He thinks that the David of that time would be proud of this David, who decided to take what he deserves and live this life to the fullest for as long as he’s allowed to have it.

“Yeah, um, I mean, I still don’t understand why you would want a child’s grimy hands all over your knits, but sure. I understand how the things you think you want can change over time.”

The way Stevie smiles at him tells him she’s thinking of the same conversation from all that time ago. 

“So… you’re going to carry it?”

“Mmhhmm, yeah.” Her eyes are shining now, so David wraps his arm around her then, settling her against his side. “I’m really fucking scared, if I’m being honest. But also really curious? Or excited? To experience it.”

David nods, scared he understands, curious, not so much. There’s some things he’s glad to keep a healthy distance from, and the miracle of life is one of them. But it makes sense, for Stevie, who has been chasing new experiences for as long as David has known her. And this one, this is the most important and biggest experiences she could possibly have, and she’s going to have it right here in Schitt’s Creek. 

“Well, I think this calls for some celebration, then.” David picks up the joint from where it’s lying in the grass, having gone out after his coughing fit. “I think I have a bottle of zhampagne inside, let’s go.”

They’re pleasantly crossfaded by the time Patrick gets home from the store that evening, having made their way back out to the backyard. This time they’re not watching clouds, but constellations - the country living has its benefits. They pull Patrick to the ground to lie with them, giggling as he settles between them.

“I see you two have been having a good time.” He tries to scold, but his smile betrays him, as does the hand he has tangled with David’s.

“For good reason!” Stevie all but shouts, and another perk of rural living is the distance of their neighbors.

“Mmmm, honey,” David nuzzles into Patrick’s shoulder, “we’re gonna be uncles.”

Patrick’s joyous laughter rings out across the countryside. 

*

June 2026

Stevie’s hair clings to her back as she sweats in her sundress, but she’s radiant. David can’t keep his eyes off of her as he folds all the little clothes she and Twyla were gifted today. This wasn’t a babyshower David had been forced into volunteering to host, he had done so gladly. As the favorite uncle to his future niece, he felt it was his duty to put on the perfect babyshower.

Patrick had assured David that, even though this was their first child, and even though Twyla was bankrolling the whole thing, they should still keep the shower conservative. So David had compromised, which he is much better at these days. He agrees to save the expense of a venue by hosting it at the cottage. He did, however, go all out on the appetizers and decorations. The decorations are from the line of party supplies RA now carries in all seven of their stores. The food he gets catered from his favorite bakery in Elmdale, a selection of danishes and sweet breads, as well as a platter of fruits and vegetables from one of their vendors. He’s at least learned to stay away from soft cheeses and seafood. 

They’d had the shower in the sunroom, Stevie and Twyla sharing the wicker sofa as they opened gift after gift. The room is Stevie’s favorite, filled with the indoor plants Patrick has been nurturing for years, and now with one or two that are recent acquisitions of David’s. 

Once again, Stevie and Twyla had more well wishers than David could’ve expected, and he thought he’d been prepared after seeing the turnout for their wedding. They don’t run out of food but he does end up dipping into his private collection of wine. He doesn’t mind though, if it means seeing Stevie this happy.

Nearly everyone has left by now, the only ones left are Ronnie and Roland, in the backyard with Patrick tossing a baseball around. Twyla’s already taken off back to their house with the first load of gifts, she’ll be back soon to pick up the rest and Stevie.

David realizes he’s been staring at her when Stevie says, “Um, hello, Earth to David.”

David shakes his head slightly, refocusing. He didn’t realize he’d stopped folding, too, and still has half a pile in front of him to get through. “Uh, sorry, what?” He resumes his folding.

“ _I said,_ so kids still aren’t in your future, then?”

They’ve been over this so many times, he’s not sure why she still asks. The only person who never asks is Patrick, who understands him, better even than Stevie. “No, we’re really happy just how we are.” He can’t help but look to his husband as he says it, can’t help but smile.

“Right, totally.” Stevie’s nodding when he looks back at her. “But say, if a child were to come into your lives, say by accident -- “

David guffaws, “Stevie, do I have to teach you human anatomy? Sometimes, when two cis-men love each other very very much, they have lots of sex and never manage to impregnate the other.”

The look Stevie gives him is one that says she’s fed up with his shit. “No, David! That’s obviously not what I mean, I understand how pregnancy works as someone currently experiencing it, thank you!”

“Well then _what do_ you mean?”

She rolls her eyes, exasperated. “I’m _trying_ to ask you if you and Patrick will be her godparents.”

Oh. _Oh._ “You -- you want that?”

“Well maybe not now after that anatomy lesson. I’m afraid what you might teach her.” She’s smiling though, so he smiles back.

David continues folding for a moment, considering. “I’ll have to talk to Patrick before I can give you a definitive answer, but I think it’s gonna be a yes.”

If she were less pregnant, she probably would’ve flung herself at him, but instead she slowly slides closer to him on the sofa, center of balance a little off, before she presses into his side and wraps her arms around him.

“You do understand what this means, right? If anything ever happens to me and Twyla, it’s on you and Patrick to make sure she’s got a good life.”

“Oh, don’t worry. With Tywla’s millions we can hire all the best nannies and tutors.”

“David!” she scolds, “I mean it. You have to give her the best fucking life.”

“I think we can do that,” he whispers into the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her. “Please don’t die though because I still don’t think I can be emotionally available to a baby.”

Stevie laughs, wetly. “We’ll do our best.”

*

November 2028

David is sick of this. His parent’s being sneaky he can tolerate, but his husband being sneaky, he can’t stand.

David’s parents came into town two days ago, and from the moment they stepped off the plane David had known something was up. He kept walking in on whispered conversations, interrupting shared glances, and often saw them passing phones back and forth, appraising looks on their faces. 

Today he’s reached his limit, as his parents have snuck off somewhere. They’ve been gone for hours, much longer than they would’ve been if they’d actually been having lunch with the Schitt’s like they claimed. 

He’s finally resorted to snooping, and is already in the guest house when Patrick catches him. The guest house isn’t big, a room with a Murphy bed/sofa combo, a kitchenette, and a bathroom tucked away into the corner. There’s not many places for him to snoop, but he doesn’t actually get a chance to before he’s caught. He tries not to look like a deer in the headlights, tries to play it off like he was…

“I was just… bringing them fresh towels.” He tips his chin up slightly, and that was his mistake, because if Patrick didn’t already know (he did) that was his tell.

“David,” he chides, coming to him in the center of the room. “What were you really doing in here?”

He tips his head back and closes his eyes as Patricks arms find their way around his waist

“They’re hiding something, okay! I can feel it and I just wanted to figure out what it was before they could blindside me with it.” He keeps his eyes closed, brows furrowed. 

“Mm, you do know that’s a sports term, right?” Patrick leans in to brush his lips over David’s, gently enough that David opens his eyes, nose to nose with his husband. He can’t help but let out a little noise in his throat, and Patrick kisses it away, tongue sweeping deftly against his lips. The kiss doesn’t last long, but it’s enough to calm David’s anxieties a bit. Patrick rests his forehead against his, “Baby, if there’s something they need to tell you, they’ll do it when they’re ready. But I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” He leans back in to kiss David again, before pulling him out of the guest house and into the kitchen to make lunch.

It’s nearly dinnertime when his parents finally return. 

“My magnificent menagerie! Do I have the most enrapturing data to disclose!”

David immediately looks to Patrick, gripping his hand tightly. Patrick squeezes back gently, and it grounds him a little. Anything his mother is excited about is always something for others to be wary of.

“Moira, may I do the honors?”

“Yes, John, I’ll allow you to set the scene.”

“So, as you boys know, Rosebudd Motel Group has been even more popular than we’d hoped. Popular enough that we’ve been able to take on additional partners. One in New York, and one in California. What you might not know is that our rural locations are actually our most popular. We have more business in the midwest United States and rural Canada than we do on the coasts combined.”

“Okay, so what does this have to do with us?”

“David, let them talk,” Patricks breath against his cheek further grounds him, helping release a little more of his anxieties. If they’d just out with it already, that wouldn’t be necessary.

“And as you know, Stevie and Twyla have Evan --”

“Yes, I am perfectly aware of _my goddaughter_ thank you.” Patrick squeezes his hand again, this time scolding instead of grounding.

“Well, son, I want Stevie to have time with her family when she wants it, and since our midwest business is booming, she doesn’t have much right now. So you’ll be seeing a lot more of us here soon, because we’re moving to Elm Glen so I can lessen the load for Stevie.”

It doesn’t hit him fully, right away, but then Patrick is pushing him towards his parents to embrace them. 

“What, but-- but mom, what about Sunrise Bay?”

“I believe my time as Vivien Blake has reached its termination point. It’s a little hard to suspend your disbelief after the 42nd resurrection.”

“What about the other 41?”

Moira ignores that, “Moreover, I now have the opportunity to configure juvenile psyches in the performing arts.”

“Oh, god,” David tries not to grimace, but the thought of his mother teaching frightens him a little. “Where?”

“Your mother will be taking on the mantle of director at the Elm Glen Playhouse in the spring.”

“That’s great, Johnny.” Patrick’s voice makes something click for David, and he turns abruptly on his husband, pointing his finger.

“You knew!”

Patrick’s cheeks pinkin a little. “I… suspected.” He turns from David to look at Johnny, “You weren’t exactly subtle with all of those questions about mortgage rates and Elm Glen real estate.”

“Mmmm, mhhm, we’re going to discuss this later.” They probably won’t, because if David is being honest, he’s not really upset. They probably didn’t want to share the news until things were certain, and David doesn’t think he can blame them for that. “But, mom, won’t you miss the spotlight? I thought you wanted to act?”

“Oh, have no fear! Alexis has introduced me to Your-tube. I aspire to create an athenaeum of availing broadcasts to keep my devotees captivated.”

“I think you mean Youtube? Oh god, why would Alexis do that.”

Before she can answer, Patrick is reaching his hand out to his father, saying “Welcome to the neighborhood, Johnny.” And, well, David is happy that they’ll be so close again, so instead of continuing to tease his mother he goes over to wrap her in a hug. 

*

May 2030

David’s not just living one rom-com, but two. Not only does he have his very own Rosehill Cottage, he also now has his very own Notting Hill bench. Since Patrick brought the bench back from their Amish vendors last week, he hasn’t been able to keep away from it. He got it just in time for the cherry blossoms to bloom, too. 

It’s taken a full ten years, but the cherry sapling Patrick planted for him in their second year in the house is fully mature. It’s a little late to bloom this year, their winter a little longer than typical. It meant that David got a late start on his garden this year, but he also got a few extra weekends curled up in front of their fireplace with Patrick, sipping hot cocoa and reading aloud to each other, so he figures it was a fair trade.

He’s spent nearly every evening this week reading a book on this bench in the dwindling light. Sometimes Patrick joins him, sometimes he stays inside and cooks dinner or works on his spreadsheets. 

David’s pulled out of his book by the ball that bounces underneath the bench, followed quickly by the fervent mass of black and white that bounds after it. They adopted Mable just a month ago. Patrick had been working on David to get a dog for nearly the entire time they’d been in this house, but all it took was one glance of Evan’s big brown eyes when she asked her Uncle David why he didn’t have a puppy, and he gave in. David knows Patrick put her up to it, too, but he’s only so strong. 

Even after he’d agreed to get a dog, it still took weeks to find one that was to David’s liking. If he was going to let a beast in his house to tear up his furniture and leave hair all over his knits, he had to really like it.

Their patience was rewarded, though, when they checked back for the eighth week in a row and found Mable. She was around 7 or 8, old enough to have mellowed to David’s liking but still excitable enough for Patrick to rile up with a game of tug-of-war or catch. 

They agreed to foster her at first, just to ensure she was the right choice for them before they took the plunge. She was a little standoffish, baring her teeth and growling a little when she was first introduced to her new home.

It only took a day though before David was fully sold. She warmed up to him quickly, and before long she was entirely disregarding his personal space, trying to be as close as possible to him at all times, even when it was least convenient.

It was her squeezing her head underneath his arm as he weeded in the garden that sealed the deal for him, even though right after that she sat on his basil. 

Patrick comes over to the bench and bends to take the ball from Mable’s mouth. David lifts his legs so Patrick can join him, sitting and pulling David’s feet into his lap. 

David returns to his book, and he can see it in his periphery when Patrick throws the ball again. 

“I take it you like the bench.”

“I love the bench, thank you.” He says it sarcastically but means it genuinely, and he knows Patrick knows that too. “How many of my other rom-com fantasies of mine are you planning to fulfill?”

“Well,” Patrick leans in to kiss him, “I’m still trying to figure out a way to get you into a high school stadium so I can sing to you from the bleachers.” He kisses him again. “Unfortunately I don’t have the hookup with the marching band, but the Jazzagals have agreed to be my ensemble.”

“Mmmm, honey, I hate to break it to you, but you’ve got nothing on Heath.”

“I can’t argue with that.” But when Patrick kisses him, he chases away any lingering thoughts David may have of Heath Ledger.

*

February 2032

There was a moment, after David put an offer on the house, where he had a bit of buyer’s remorse. Not because this wasn’t what he wanted, it absolutely _was_ and still _is._ But because he put an offer in having seen nothing but the facade. Before he worked himself into a panic about it, he managed to remind himself that Patrick was going to buy this house, and there was _no way_ Patrick would buy a house without having it thoroughly inspected. Though, that didn’t mean anything for style.

He lucked out though, because the interior of the house was just as beautiful as the exterior. One of his favorite rooms is their kitchen, even though before Patrick and Schitt’s Creek, he never had much use for them. But this kitchen made him want to use it.

The kitchen was the perfect mix of being both recently renovated and timeless. It was French country style, with exposed wooden beams running through the ceiling, and the same stone from the exterior of the house lined the wall behind the stove. A big hood vent was over the stove, and a pot rack hung over the center island. The kitchen sink was on the wall perpendicular to the stove, a big enamel thing beneath the window. It couldn’t have been more perfect if a Pinterest photo decided to take up residence in his house. 

David’s favorite thing about the kitchen was how it looked, because how it looked made him want to spend time in it, and the natural progression from that was to learn to make something in it.

He’d mastered the basics of cooking, and while he’d found it fulfilling to be able to provide for himself and his husband, he didn’t actually enjoy much of the process. He did, however, enjoy the process of baking.

It had started a few winters ago, when he’d been forced to finally take a full week off of work for the first time since their honeymoon. He came down with some sort of plague that kept him laid up for days. Patrick had tried to keep working, but, of course, he caught the same bug. They ended up sprawled out on the couches in the living room, and somehow they’d settled on the Great British Baking Show as their plague-viewing of choice.

David hadn’t watched it before, he hadn’t had as much time for television in this current life where he ran a business and had a husband and a social life of people who _actually cared about him_. When he did watch TV, he prioritized his favorite shows and rarely added new ones into the mix anymore

Not that this was new. David had known it existed for years, of course. He’d just never given it a chance. Boy, was he wrong. He’s entranced, immediately. For one, none of these people were professional bakers, they were just doing this _for fun._ It was different than the other cooking shows he’d watched, with shouting and emotional breakdowns on camera. This show felt like a warm blanket being wrapped around him.

After that, there was no turning back. Now that he’d seen the contestants learning how to cook a perfect Victoria sponge, fold their pastry dough into its 81 layers, and whip the perfect meringue… he wanted to do it too. 

He decided to forgo Paul Hollywood or Mary Berry’s baking books, instead buying one through RA from one of their vendors in Quebec. 

It took a while for David to actually get any good at it, and he dropped and picked it back up multiple times. He didn’t finally stick with the learning long term until this past January, when he’d picked Evan up from school while Stevie was at a conference and she asked him if he’d help her bake cookies for her class since it was her turn to bring snacks next week. Stevie would be back before then, and Twyla probably could’ve just catered through the Café. But one thing David has learned about Evan is that he has a hard time telling her no. So, he doesn’t say no. 

They’d baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies together, then bagged them individually. As the cookies cooled, they’d watched The Great British Baking Show and used the mishmash of markers and crayons that Evan left there to make tags for the baggies with each of her classmates’ names. 

Patrick comes home from work on a February afternoon, a few days before Valentines Day, to find them in the kitchen, a mess with flour and butter and sugar. David’s not really sure how he managed to keep all of it off his sweater, even with the apron he’s wearing. Mable is wandering through the kitchen, nose to the ground as she licks up bits of sugar while David and Evan work on decorating the heart-shaped cookies they baked.

“Uncle Pat!” Evan shouts when she notices him. She reaches her sticky hands towards him, though David manages to reel her back in and get the washcloth he has at the ready onto her hands to start cleaning. “I made you a cookie!” She uses her free hand, the one David’s not scrubbing at, to reach for the cookie that says _#2 Uncle_ in suspiciously neat lettering.

“Oh, thanks sweetpea. Did you make this all by yourself?”

“No, Uncle Davey helped me with the letters.” 

“Oh, okay,” Patrick grins as he takes a bite out of it, chewing the _#2_ thoroughly before swallowing and leaning in to give David a sugary kiss. “I thought we agreed we weren’t playing favorites.” 

Evan tugs at Patricks hand to pull him down so his head is level with hers, before leaning in to loudly whisper in his ear. “You’re Uncle Davey’s favorite, so Uncle Davey has to be someone’s favorite, too.” 

David smiles at that, and smiles even wider as Patrick stage-whispers back at her. “That’s very generous of you, sweetpea. But you don’t have to worry. Uncle Davey is my favorite. Though you’re a close second.” He ducks in to kiss her on the nose where she has a smudge of icing and she giggles. 

“Uncle Davey made you a cookie too!” 

“Oh, did he?” Patrick raises an eyebrow at him, and David nods towards the cookie. Patrick blushes when he reads it.

“Aren’t you going to eat it?”

Patrick clears his throat, “I think I’m going to save this one. For later.” The look in David’s eyes promises more than just a cookie later.

*

December 2035

Since their first big Christmas in this house, their tribe has grown to many more than twelve. It’s nice, in that they have so many people now that they can consider family, who they’re close enough to to spend Christmas Day together. It also means that they lose a lot of moments between the core group of them.

This year they decided to have another night together, just a casual dinner a few days after Christmas with just the family. It’s still a large bunch: David and Patrick are joined around their dining room table by Johnny and Moira, Alexis and Ted, and Stevie and Twyla, with Evan of course. 

It’s nothing special, just a few bottles of wine and cartons upon cartons of Chinese food that they pass around the table, unloading onto their plates. They’re all pleasantly drunk, no one has to travel too far from here. Ted and Alexis are staying in the guest room, which is now taken over by toys and stuffed animals that belong to Evan. Twyla, Stevie and Evan can easily walk home from here, and David’s parents can take the guest house if need be, though they’ll likely be here long enough that his father will have sobered before they leave. 

“I’d like everyone’s attention, please.” Johnny’s clear voice breaks through all of the side conversations happening at the table, everyone’s eyes on him. “I just have a little something I wanted to say.” He clears his throat and fidgets with his cufflinks before carrying on. “We all know I’m… not very good at giving gifts.”

“No, you’re bad at it. You can say bad.” David’s smiling as he says it though, the joke old enough that there’s no offense as everyone nods in agreement.

“Fine, I’m _bad_ at giving gifts. So I figured I’d keep it simple this time around. I already gave you all your Christmas gifts on the day, so this isn’t that. This is… well I know you two are only half Jewish,” he’s pointing to David and Alexis, “And the rest of you aren’t Jewish at all. But I wanted to celebrate Hanukkah a little this year.” Johnny’s stopped fidgeting with his cufflinks, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out three envelopes. “There’s a tradition known as _gelt_ which is the giving of money to children.” He hands out the envelopes, one to each couple.

Once the envelopes are passed out, Johnny seems to relax a little. He sits back down at the table, and Moira reaches to hold his hand.

“Well, go on, open them.”

Patrick is looking over his shoulder as David opens theirs. There’s enough zeroes on the check that they’ll be able to pay off their mortgage ten years early. 

“Mr. Rose,” Patrick always reverts back to formalities when he feels awkward. “This is a lot of money, we can’t accept this.” David nudges him under the table, because, _speak for yourself._

“Yeah, Johnny, this is a _whale_ lot of money,” Ted adds. 

“No, no, I insist. For one, as Stevie can attest, we’ve had a really good year at RMG. A really good decade, actually. We can afford this, right now.”

They’re all silent around the table. This money means a lot, especially to David and Alexis who haven’t seen numbers like this in twenty years. 

David hears Alexis whisper to Ted, “we can put a down-payment on that brownstone in Brooklyn.”

“Ew, why would you want to live in Brooklyn?”

“Lick barbed wire, David. It’s not 1995 anymore, places other than Greenwich Village exist.”

Johnny cuts into their bickering. “We’ll never be as rich as we used to be. Hell, I don’t think I want to be as rich as we used to be.”

“Well John, speak for yourself.” Moira cuts in, and sometimes it’s scary to remember how similar David is to his mother.

“No, Moira, I’m serious. I don’t ever want to have that kind of money again. We lost touch with reality. And I want to make sure that doesn’t happen this time. We already have our 5 to 1 rule for our payscale at RMG. Any profit we could make beyond that goes either to employee bonuses or charities. I figured for just one year, I’d take my bonus and give it to my family.”

They all stay silent, because it doesn’t seem like Johnny’s done yet, and he carries on. “I don’t want us to lose touch again. Besides, I feel more wealthy now than I ever did when I owned a fleet of yachts.”

Patrick turns to David to mouth “a fleet?”

David nods, mouthing back “gold plated.” 

Johnny clears his throat, “I feel wealthy in love now.”

No one responds, because no one really knows what to say to that. Evan, who is tugging at Stevie’s sleeve, breaks the silence. “What’s a _five-two-one rule_?” 

Stevie ducks towards her to answer, “It means that the highest paid employee is only paid five times as much as the lowest paid employee. It’s a way to take care of the people who work for you.”

Evan nods in understanding, looking at Johnny before she says “You’re a good boss, Grandpa.”

He’s not a bad father, either, David thinks.

*

September 2038

David never thought it would happen, but Patrick manages to throw him a surprise party that he doesn’t hate and actually surprises him. For the first time ever, one of them was traveling during their anniversary. David had to go to their New York store to train new management. It would be opening in a few weeks, their tenth location. If it weren’t their _New York store_ he might trust the task to one of his other employees. He knows Jasika could do it, easily. But he still has trouble handing his baby over to someone else sometimes. Even if it means missing his wedding anniversary.

Patrick picks him up at the airport the day after their anniversary. It’s a Saturday, which is part of their new days off, they have a staff large enough to support weekends off now. Patrick greets him with the same “welcome home, baby” he’s greeted David with nearly every day for the past twenty years. 

David doesn’t even suspect it, not even when they pull up to the pitch black house and Patrick murmurs “forgot to leave a light on” even though that’s not like him to forget.

Evan, of course, is leading the surprise when they open the front door. Once the lights are turned up David sees that their house is full to brimming with people. Not just his immediate family, with Marcy and Clint, or his Christmas family, with Roland and Jocelyn, but everyone else who he realizes has become his family as well - several of their local vendors, a dozen or so customers, Patrick’s baseball team, the Jazzagals. 

Patrick surprises David again, with plane tickets, this time. A trip to Taiwan later in the fall, because twentieth anniversary presents are meant to be _China._

It’s well after midnight when the final guests trickle out, unsurprisingly Roland and Jocelyn, who, as fond as David has somehow grown for them over the years, still have no boundaries. 

Evan is asleep on the couch in the living room. Twyla is in the kitchen cleaning up as David and Stevie pick up glasses and plates from around the house. David watches as Patrick picks up Evan to carry her up to the guest room, which is basically her room now. He see’s Patrick’s wince as he begins to climb the stairs. They’re getting too old for that, he’ll have to remember to rub Patrick’s back before they go to sleep.

They bring all the dishes they collect to Twyla in the kitchen. Patrick has joined her after putting Evan to bed and is drying the dishes she hands him. 

Somehow watching his husband and his best friend’s wife working in tandem together brings up the wave of emotions he’s been managing to suppress all night. He excuses himself, and exits out into the lawn.

When Stevie finds him he’s sitting on his bench under the cherry tree. It’s not in bloom now, its leaves just beginning to turn for fall. Before long he’ll be sitting out here as Patrick rakes leaves into piles for Mable to jump through, and he’ll have to check them both for ticks after. He can’t wait.

She sits down next to him, legs crossed on the bench so her knee hovers just above his thigh. She waits him out, knowing it doesn’t take too long anymore, and it’s only a moment before the floodgates open and David starts speaking.

“I’m just -- I’m really fucking happy.”

“That’s a good thing, I’m pretty sure.”

He laughs, wetly. “It’s a very good thing. It’s just, I never thought I’d get to be happy for this long. I’ve been this happy for over _twenty years,_ Stevie. It has to end at some point, right?”

“Does it?”

He doesn’t respond to that because he doesn’t know the answer. He hopes the answer is _no_ , but the David from before Schitt’s Creek, the one who whispers to him sometimes when he’s at his low points tells him _yes._

“Why are you still waiting for the other shoe to drop? Isn’t twenty years of having this enough to show you that you deserve this?”

He’s drawn back to that conversation on the hood of her car. When he’d sat on a precipice, unsure which path to choose. He’s never doubted he made the right decision. Being in New York this past week was enough to cement that for him if he still had any doubts, but he didn’t. He’s been happy here all along. 

“Thank you, Stevie.” 

“Okay, who are you and what have you done with David Brewer-Rose?”

“I mean it. Remember when we sat on your car and looked at this house? You helped me understand that I could be happy here. And I’ve been so fucking happy. So thank you.”

“Well, um, you’re welcome.” She pauses for a moment, considering. “I think during that conversation I also implied that you’re not a good person. I was wrong. You’re a good person, David.”

“Okay, who are _you,_ and what have you done with Stevie Budd?”

“Alright that’s enough for one night.” She stands, but she holds out a hand for him to take. They’re walking back up to the house when she remembers another part of that conversation. “Didn’t you say this house was ‘way too small for the rest of your lives?’ Do you still feel that way?”

David shakes his head, smiling. “No, it’s the perfect size for the rest of our lives.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come find me on _[tumblr.](http://sparklesmagiclightlove.tumblr.com/)_


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